


And Mirth Prevail

by Moorishflower



Series: The Lost Meteor [1]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Body Modification, Childhood, Disturbing Themes, Gen, Parenthood, Parents & Children, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:10:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sburb's meteors go astray, the Beta kids end up in the hands of the Ancestors, rather than the Guardians. It goes somewhat better than can be expected.</p><p>Or, adventures in parenting, with John Egbert and the Grand Highblood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Woops it's a universe oh well
> 
> Just watch me make another ask blog for these assholes you just watch

-Well, damn.\- 

-That wasn't supposed to happen.\- 

~

The meteors fall thick as snow in the dark season, lighting the night sky with brilliant streaks of scarlet and orange, their fiery tails carving paths through the inky blackness of space. Below, the Imperial City goes about its business, the last bastion for adults on a planet full of children. The spaceport docks groundrunners from ships too large to land, ferrying officers, legislacerators, and subjugglators from the vastness of the void to the distantly-familiar comforts of being planetside, if only for a short time. The Battleship Condescension drifts like a dead whale above the massive city, casting its shadow over the bustling streets. Below it, the groundrunner H.I.C.S. VITALITY lands, and blue-blooded attendants rush to prepare the docking platforms; it bears with it passengers who do not enjoy being left waiting.

The Battleship Condescension has chosen a poor time to return planetside. The Condesce herself has an unfortunate front-row seat to the sight of the meteor shower, the vast majority of them missing the planet, in some cases by mere miles; however, a majority is not _everything_. She who has not had to declare an emergency in hundreds of sweeps bears witness to four massive streaks of light arcing towards her planet, and even from orbit she can see how the ground shakes with the force of their impact.

They have all landed within a day’s travel of each other. Casualties are unknown. The VITALITY spills its passengers out onto the docks, already receiving orders through their coms.

The Grand Highblood exits with them, towering, wild-maned and wild-eyed. He swipes his own subjugglators out of the way. He does not care. He has a job to do.

He has a meteor to investigate.

Shuttles are made ready for himself and a small team of his best and most devout officers. They arrive at the site of the first meteor within minutes; the Highblood is the first to approach, skidding down into the newborn crater and poking about amongst the rubble.

He emerges some minutes later, a squirming, pinkish creature in one huge hand and a placard in the other, unaware that, several miles away, the Condesce has descended from her Battleship to investigate for herself, and has found herself in much the same position, a purple-eyed alien infant swaddled in the folds of her dress.

 _Keep this creature,_ she hears, far-off but powerful, a rumbling in the deep. _Yes daughter keep this creature I can hear it and **it can hear me**_.


	2. A Discussion

GH: SO WHAT THE FUCK. do we do with these motherfuckers.   
GH: JUST SAY THE WORD, MY CONDESCE. and i will have every last alien hunted down and exterminated.   
)(IC: nah   
GH: WHAT.   
)(IC: much as i hate to say it   
)(IC: we aint krillin nobody tonight   
GH: i do not understand.   
)(IC: i got a message from ma gill down under   
)(IC: sayin these lil pink wigglers are important   
)(IC: they got a porpoise an we gotta make sure they fulfill it   
GH: IF GL'BGOLYB HAS SPOKEN. what does that mean for us motherfuckers what are listening.   
)(IC: means we turn this ship to our advantage mofo   
)(IC: you got that wiggler with you right now   
GH: YES, MY CONDESCE.   
)(IC: good   
)(IC: keep it around   
GH: to what purpose.   
)(IC: dunno yet   
)(IC: i kinda like ma lil pet i found   
)(IC: its got ma eyes   
)(IC: maybe i teach it how to run an empire   
)(IC: maybe i keep it in ma dungeons an let the skitterbeasts have it   
)(IC: aint decided yet   
GH: IF IT IS ALL THE SAME TO YOU, MY CONDESCE. i believe i shall pass the care of this wiggler on. TO A JADE-BLOOD MORE SUITED TO ITS WEAKLING MOTHERFUCKING TEMPERAMENT.   
)(IC: whateva   
)(IC: long as you dont krill it i dont care what you do with it   
)(IC: now fuck off homebuoy i got mad work to do sortin out aliens an shit   
GH: as you wish, my condesce.


	3. Naming Day

You are the Grand Highblood, and you do not have time to take care of useless alien wigglers. You have _important shit_ to do, people to kill and fucking paperwork to fill out about it. Most of it you can foist off on others, but there’s a small percentage of it that requires not only your official seal, but also your _opinion_. You are aware that the Condesce has final veto power over anything that crosses either your desk or hers; your opinion means about as much as a rustblood, which is to say, _nothing_. But now you have to handle delegating the care of this stupid fucking alien to--

Hold up.

You balance the creature on your knee, staring down at it. It stares back up at you, blinking slowly in the dim light of the shuttle. The placard you found among the rubble called it _John_. You aren’t sure if that’s a name or a species, and you don’t really care. It might as well be John from now on. And the Condesce _did_ say to keep it around. She didn’t specifically say you had to care for it yourself, and you weren’t too rightly keen on the idea before, but if it means you can further delegate some of your more boring duties...

And hell, maybe this is just another example of the Mirthful Messiahs working in strange ways, all showing their righteous whimsy in the most unexpected places. You lift the wiggler up beneath its upper limbs and tuck it in the crook of your arm. Give it grey skin and some horns and you’d think it was a miniature troll, even.

The child makes a sound, sort of a _buh_ sound, and flails its tiny hand. It manages to latch onto your finger and doesn’t let go. You aren’t a jadeblood, hanging around in the brooding caverns herding grubs for a living, but you figure you can handle one tiny alien wiggler, especially one as soft-skinned and feeble as this. And in the meantime, you’ll have less time for paperwork, but, consequently, more time for doing shit you like. Like killing ungrateful blaspheming motherfuckers in the culling pits.

The child (John, it might as well learn its name early) draws your finger to its mouth and awkwardly tries to stuff it inside. It doesn’t get too far, your claws as long as they are, and so it ends up spitting and flapping its lips. You try to remember what you were like when you were a grub, but it was so many sweeps ago, and you aren’t much for remembering useless shit anyways. Grubs chew things, don’t they? You search through your sylladex and unearth a bottle of Faygo, the child watching you with wide, unblinking dark eyes. You open the bottle and offer it. After a minute, John solemnly accepts.

You spend the journey back to your quarters in the Imperial City in silence, John gradually becoming sticky with spilled Faygo, and yourself lost deep in thought.


	4. > Be the baby.

Your name is John. You know that’s your name because Big Lusus calls you that whenever you see him; Big Lusus is the best lusus. He takes care of you and he gives you food and sticky-sweet things to drink, and he gives you a white rattle that goes _clack clack clack_ inside. Big Lusus says that he made that one himself out of some blasphemous motherfucker’s thighbone and he put that same blasphemous motherfucker’s teeth in so that it would go _clack clack clack_ and it is your favorite toy _ever_.

You do not know it, but you are nearly five months old. You give the rattle a shake and it goes _clack clack_ and you giggle in delight. Outside it is the bright season, which means Big Lusus has to stay inside and do things with paper that you don’t understand. You like it when Big Lusus is with you, but he gets mad a lot of the time and that’s _scary_. Sometimes he brings strange people in and that’s scary, too.

You roll yourself over and wriggle to the bars of your crib. Green Lady is there; sometimes she comes and helps Big Lusus make you things and sometimes she feeds you but you prefer your lusus because Green Lady smells weird. She makes odd sounds sometimes, like she’s just seen a really gross bug, and she talks about _culling you_ a lot. You don’t know what ‘culling’ is but it sounds like it might hurt.

Green Lady comes over to your crib and tries to give you a bottle. You kick your legs and flail your arms because it smells funny, it doesn’t smell like the sweet thing Big Lusus gives you and it doesn’t smell like the protein formula that you get when you’re hungry. It smells strange and _off_ , and you knock the bottle out of her hand and open your mouth and cry and cry and cry.

“What the _fuck_ is going on in here?”

Big Lusus comes into the room, and you reach for him and you keep crying because the Green Lady is frightening and you don’t think she likes you, and you keep reaching until Big Lusus puts his hand down in your crib and you hold on to it, hiccoughing quietly. The Green Lady bends down and gets the bottle and holds it against her chest. “Why the motherfuck is he _crying_?”

“I apologize, your Levity, I was merely trying to give him his protein formula, but he attacked me and--”

“That’s hoofbeastshit and you know it. Does he _look_ like he can do any motherfucking damage? Give me that.” Big Lusus takes the bottle and he tears the cap off with his teeth, Big Lusus has the biggest and sharpest teeth and you want teeth like his someday, and the cap goes _plick_ on the ground and Big Lusus freezes, licking his lips. He gently takes his hand away from you and Green Lady is staring and staring, and she looks so scared.

“What the fuck did you put in this bottle.”

“Your Levity--”

“I said. **What the fuck**. Did you put. **In the motherfucking bottle**.”

Green Lady touches her head and Big Lusus is staring too, staring and staring at her and she starts to sweat and shake and cry and she says, “I’m sorry, your Levity, I’m sorry, please, he is such a burden, such weak filth but you cannot do anything because the Condesce ordered it so, please, I only meant to _help_...”

Big Lusus drops the bottle and he grabs Green Lady by the horn and he pulls her away from you. She’s crying and screaming and then she screams louder because Big Lusus takes her horn off, _crunch crunch_ , and he puts in her neck, and then she isn’t screaming because she’s gurgling. Green splats across your crib and your face and you clap your hands and you take your rattle and shake it, _clack_. Big Lusus takes the horn out of Green Lady’s throat and he puts it in the crib with you. You drop your rattle and you take the horn and you put the tip of it in your mouth. It tastes like how green looks.

“There you go, my fine little mirthful disciple. You get your teething on with that piece of trash. I’m gonna make you some fucking protein formula, make it fucking _proper_ , no poison or shit in it.” He reaches down and very softly pats your head. “No more skank-ass jade motherfuckers are gonna come in here, no fucking lowbloods at all, just you and me.”

You solemnly pick up your rattle and hold it out to him. Big Lusus, obligingly, gives it a shake for you. _Clack clack clack_.


	5. Chance Meetings

Your name is John and you are almost a year old. You don’t really have a concept of passing time yet, nothing beyond when it gets dark outside and when it gets light, but your lusus does, and he has brought you out into the Imperial City today so that you can get some new clothes and so you can see a doctorturer. Big Lusus said that you’re growing so motherfucking fast that pretty soon he won’t be able to afford to keep you anymore, and then you started to cry and he took you up on his huge shoulder and patted you until the crying stopped. Then you fell asleep for a while, and now you’re out in the dark streets and everything smells like rain. Other people run around doing things that are fascinating but inscrutable. They all give Big Lusus a wide berth.

Some of them stop and stare, or point, but Big Lusus does the glaring thing where his horns make the humming noise and his eyes go dark, and they stop right away. You clap your hands when this happens the first time, and Big Lusus says “Well shit, if the chucklevoodoos don’t up and scare you we’re gonna have a wild motherfucking party.”

They don’t scare you. They make your teeth feel shaky and too-big for your mouth, but they don’t scare you.

Big Lusus takes you to the ragripper and he helps you stand very still while the blue lady measures you from head to toe and armpit to waist, and you giggle and try to take her tape measure but she taps you softly on the nose and says “Not for wigglers, little one.” You like the blue lady, she’s been giving you clothes since you were little and Big Lusus doesn’t get angry at her nearly as much as he gets angry at everyone else.

She takes your old clothes and recycles the fabric and you get to wait in a wiggler pen while she makes you new ones. There’s a bright purple man sitting in the waiting area and his fins flare out when he sees you, but then Big Lusus comes back and he ruffles your hair and the fins go down again. “Dualscar,” Big Lusus says, “what a motherfucking coincidence.”

“Serendipity will do that,” purple man says; he has a weird accent and he’s wearing a cape. You reach through the bars and try to grab the edge of it but he twitches away like you’ll bite him. You bare your teeth at him to make sure he doesn’t try to bite you first, and Big Lusus laughs.

“Good fucking taste, kid. What the hell are you doing in the Imperial City, seadweller?”

“Gettin’ my clothes fixed. An’ I heard Mindfang might be comin’ into port soon.” He stares at you. “So...that’s the alien, huh? I seen pictures of it, but never...”

“You touch him. **And I’ll rip your motherfucking fins off**. You hear me, little flounder?”

“I’d like to see you try.” Purple man snarls and his fins go out and Big Lusus’s horns start vibrating again, but it doesn’t seem to work as well on this one, because purple man just winces and starts to stand up.

You do the only thing you can think of: you start to scream.

Purple man’s fins go down again and he clutches at his ears while Big Lusus laughs and laughs, and you try to reach and grab his cape again but he’s too far. “Fuck,” purple man says. “Didn’t tell me it was _weaponized_.”

“He’s gonna be a lot more than that once I’m through with him. Now. **Get the fuck out**. Before I lay some righteous motherfucking whimsy on your sorry ass.”

Purple man stands and goes to the door, but he stops just inside of it and says, “Can you just tell me...is it true? There was more than two meteors?”

“Ain’t none of your motherfucking business, is it?”

“Thought I’d mention...there’s been rumors that Mindfang’s taken on a wiggler as her protege.” Purple man raises his eyebrow. “Can’t rightly see her doin’ that without it bein’ a particularly special wiggler, can you?”

And then he leaves and Big Lusus sits with you while your clothes are made, and you get some new pants and a shirt and some shoes with clown faces on them, and Big Lusus gives you a Faygo and he gets someone to drive the two of you to the doctorturer’s office. The doctorturer is a teal man with curly horns and he says “Your Levity, are you certain? The effects of these treatments are irreversible and difficult to predict due to its alien physiology.”

And Big Lusus says, “I will cull my own fucking self before I let anything I’ve raised grow up to be a motherfucking weakling. When will he be old enough for the surgeries?”

“Based on its current growth rate, I would say around three and a half sweeps, perhaps.”

“Good. C’mere, John, I got a motherfucking gift for you.”

And then the doctorturer puts a needle in your arm and it burns, and you cry and you reach for Big Lusus and you stretch your mouth and your tongue and you can hear it in your head, and finally you say “Lu-luh.”

And Big Lusus says “What,” and you say “Luh-thuth, lu- _thith_.”

And the doctorturer says “I believe it is asking for its lusus.”

And then Big Lusus picks you up and holds you against his chest and you say “Lusus,” and he smiles and you smile and the crying stops.


	6. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the body horror/modification tags become relevant. Just a heads up.

You are lying on the table. There is a light and it is shining down on you, and you want to look around but you can’t. Nothing is restraining you, but you have the awful feeling that ( _you’re such a good wiggler John_ ) there is something terrible here with you. You stretch your legs and your arms and they work like they should; you flex your fingers.You count, one two three four five, five per hand, your soft pink hands. There is something you are missing. Something isn’t right here.

You are lying on the table. Where is the table? The light is so bright that it hurts to look directly at it, but you can’t turn away and you don’t want to close your eyes. Why don’t you ( _such a good_ ) want to close your eyes? What hides in the darkness?

Daymares. You’ve been having daymares. Visions of some other place where the creatures are stunted and wrong, the colors dull, the moonlight dim. You were having daymares and your lusus took your hand and he said _good wiggler John you’ll be a strong wiggler you’ll be a fighter_.

What are you fighting? Your head hurts. Your head hurts.

You are lying on the table. You have been on the table before. You remember the light, and the dryness in your eyes. You blink but you can’t see past the halos of bright-burn that ring your vision. You are on the ( _you are sinking down_ ) table, and you are looking ( _you are looking at the red dripping_ ) at the light.

You try to reach for the edge of the table but your hands aren’t working anymore. Your lusus said ( _when will the surgeries be_ ) that it would be all right, but it isn’t all right, and you begin to scream. Bewildered, angered screaming. You are lying on the table and you have been here before. Red squelches between your fingers. You hold your hand in front of your face and it isn’t red, it’s almost white. The light is shining down. There is a face above you, with a gaping white hole where its mouth should be and scissors for fingers. You scream and try to ( _good wiggler John_ ) get away but it _hurts it hurts it_ \--

You are lying on the table and you remember, you remember. You look down and the light is stark bright illumination showing every cut and line and stitch, your torso flayed open and your insides outside. Muscles pulse and twitch as you flex your fingers, blood pouring down on the white table, and the light, _the light_ \--

“He’s up again. Your Levity?”

You can feel the vertebral knobs of your spine against the table, it is cold, it is so cold and so bright, and you can’t breathe, you can see the sharp bright bones of your ribcage and you don’t understand what any of this means or why it doesn’t hurt, why can you see the glint of metal embedded in your spine, why can you see it at all, _why_ \--

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you. You’re such a good wiggler, John. **Go back to sleep**.”

No no no, you can’t because if you close your eyes this will all be gone, that is the monster waiting, forgetfulness, you can’t forget this because you’ve got to get away before the beasts hurt you, you want your lusus, where is your lusus, where...

Your eyes close. Your heart flutters, pumping blood through pinned arteries like butterfly wings, your ribs spread for the grafts to take root, a notch here, an addition there. Lengthen these bones but shorten these ones, _these grafts are experimental, he might reject them keep going if it will make him stronger up his dosage to twenty he’ll need these periodically lengthened until he stops growing extenders are temperamental and this is his spine we’re talking about_

You are lying in your recuperacoon. It seems smaller, somehow.


End file.
